


The Curious Summer of 1955

by VillainousMoriarty



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainousMoriarty/pseuds/VillainousMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond, a forty something struggling writer, escapes to an old family house in the countryside for a summer. Not knowing that another family owns a house across the lake he meets a young Q under strange circumstances, who is staying for the summer as well. Bond is inspired by the boy and slowly but surely finds he is falling in love with him over the course of the summer.<br/>Bond’s estate attracts young Q who wishes to escape from his family’s strict ideas of what his future is to be and his wishes to break free from that. Bond’s company provides that respite and Q provides Bond with a renewed sense of hope for his life as well as his writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is another AU fic with Bond and Q. The family manor Bond's staying at is indeed Skyfall but in a different location. This work will probably be made up of short but numerous chapters. This is my second fic. Enjoy!

It took two tries for the car door to close properly. Vague wrappers and tissues served as the only interior decoration for the rusty fossil. Archaic stains were painted with a clumsy hand across the fabric of the passenger seat Bond now sat down in, at first with some reservation. 

He heard Brian working in the back of the car, throwing Bond’s suitcases in with who-knows-what that lived in his trunk. Bond dared a glance back to the seats behind him and beheld a visage like no other. Cardboard boxes filled with Brian’s old records and sticky Coca Cola bottles took up most of the space. Leaving only a sliver of seat available to his pet Beagle, Grace Kelly. Brian hadn’t stopped the praise pouring from his mouth about the actress’s— from whom his Beagle got her name— new movie, “To Catch a Thief”— he said it was a hit. Bond had nodded politely and listened to his friend’s constant drawl.

Brian closed the trunk with a loud click and Bond heard his feet travel along the gravel and up to the driver’s door. It opened and his friend appeared in the vacated space of the seat next to him. Brian fumbled for his keys in his trouser pockets before pulling them out with a triumphant smile and sliding them into the slot. The engine roared to life and Brain looked at Bond with an elated expression.

“Great isn’t it? Brand new, just got it last week. This’ll be its first long distance trip.” Brian glowed as he traced the dashboard with his palm, relishing in its finery.

“You’ve managed to make it your own quite quickly.” Bond commented, his eyes sweeping to the floor and the mess that resided there. You would think someone might have some trepidation about the matter of making so homely so quickly— but Brian was always one for speed. 

“Oh, yes! That— right, right I’ve been meaning to clean it up. Must have slipped my mind. Oh well, at a later date perhaps.”

“Yes, well shall we get going then? Long trip ahead of us, eh?” Bond commented, his lips pulling up into a smile. Around them the steady bustle rose and fell in it’s clamoring to get places and do things. It was only just before noon that they were leaving London, though Bond had originally wished to leave sooner so as to avoid the traffic that now presented itself. As Brian turned the wheel over itself to pull out Bond used the lever to roll the window and allow some air into the hot car. 

Summer had come with its confident conviction as it did every year and Bond relished in its faith. The air had grown hot and thick and everything and everyone became sticky. Family picnics filled parks and kites flew through the light Bond found so bright and abrasive on thin and trickling winds that gave the occasional strong gusts. Grass was greener and love was more common— at least for the young and upcoming. Double decker buses passed their car on both sides, parading tourists and natives alike through the streets of summer London that hummed with common life.

Brian turned left, passing a sign, advising people to ‘Have a Coke’ and assuring that they were ‘delicious’ and ‘refreshing’. Bond scoffed as they pulled out of view of the advertisement.

“So a whole summer huh?” Brian started, blinking to Bond and then back to the road ahead. 

“Yeah,” Bond answered. “My family has an old house out in the country. It’s isolated so I figured it would work well for writing. It’s by a lake too.”

“So there’s some inspiration right there!” Brian exclaimed, trying to encourage Bond who didn’t need it. “Nothing like nature, am I right?” He tapped the steering wheel twice to affirm that he was and nodded his head to himself. “So how about, “To Catch a Thief”? You seen it yet?”

“Come on, Brian!” Bond complained in a friendly tone. “Not this again— you haven’t stopped talking about it for weeks!” Bond rubbed his legs and licked his lips to refresh them from the heat. He was beginning to sweat under his jacket so he pulled it off and set it stop his legs.

“Just trying to take your mind off Diane buddy.”

“Well mentioning her doesn’t help much!” Bond said with exasperation, losing some of his playful tone.

“Then maybe you should talk about it?” Brian suggested innocently, shrugging his shoulders and keeping his eyes ahead.

Bond stared at Brian for a long moment, “What’s done is done. I’ve still got my writing and I’ll focus on that.” Bond nodded his head, he had repeated this mantra to himself more times that once or twice. “Maybe even get a book published, who knows?”

“Yeah,” Brain chimed in. “Who knows. Great things ahead for you James, don’t you worry—” After a pause. “—And don’t you go and do anything you’ll regret alright?”

Bond didn’t respond, he knew what Brian meant and didn’t need any clarification. He had been engaged to Diane for three years— with her for five— before she left him for a guy name Keith. Bond had never heard of him before but he took his fiancé anyways. Since then, people had been worrying after his health. While he appreciated their solicitous behavior at first, after a while all they served as were constant reminders that James was supposed to be sad. People feared James would take his own life out of a broken heart. He assured them she hadn’t meant that much to him and it wasn’t a total lie. He had loved her, sure— of course he did. But he wasn’t a wreck and he was getting better. But people that thought they knew better kept knocking him back down and calling it denial. But maybe there was blame on Bond’s side about why their engagement lasted three years— and why the last six months of it lacked in the bedroom.

“You hear me, James? No funny business, okay?” Brain tried to meet Bond’s eyes, ducking his head and searching. Bond pushed Brian’s shoulder lightly so he’d look back up.

“Keep your goddamn eyes on the road Brain!” Bond shouted. He swerved to miss scratching the paint on another car and was given a curt honk. “And yeah, yeah I get it. I’m good Brian.”

“Alright. Just checking.”

Bond was getting tired of people checking. He hoped this summer would be filled with nothing but the click of a typewriter and the blissful silence due to a lack of people ‘just checking’. Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive.

°°°

The trip took four hours in total and Bond’s anticipation rose to an eager high as the roads turned to dirt and the trees stretched their thick limbs and thin fingers toward the ruthless sun. Decaying wooden fences and pins sagged with age and Brian’s car kicked up dust along the road. Bond turned his head to look back at the cloud they raised with their passing. Past knots of trees James could glimpse flashes of brooks and streams that raced with them. Small lakes with the occasional fisher dotted the land and rolling green hills were all to be seen after a while.

As they drew nearer, the trees grasped each other’s hands above and created a canopy of green leaves and shade, except for the momentary break in the leaves that shook with warm and steady gusts of wind. Marks of civilization began to appear as low stonewalls came into view along the road. Between low hanging braches, Bond could see the outline of a stone house coming into view. And as Brian pulled the wheel over itself once more, they rounded the last corner a stopped, the engine still lively, in front of the house.

It was more run down that Bond had originally expected but it possessed a near mystical quality. Wild patches of ivy danced and dug into the rising front walls of the estate. French style windows were open and flowing white curtains had been permitted to bellow out. The roof was home to a thick coating of moss that wrapped its arms around the chimney. A large and wild lawn stretched out in front of the house, cut down the middle by a stone and gravel pathway that led up to the front porch.

“It’s spectacular.” Bond whispered and Brian seemed to hear him. He turned the key and removed it from the slot, bringing the cars dull thrum of life to a stop. He ducked his head to get a better look out of the windshield. 

“Yeah, pretty great James! You’re going to have one hell of a summer here. Make sure to clean it up before you bring any birds over, alright?”

 

James rolled his eyes and pulled the handle to open the door. He pushed it with his shoulder and pulled his feet up and out, grabbing his jacket so it didn’t fall into the dirt. He squinted as his eyes adjusted and stretched his legs that ached from the long drive. Brian did the same on his side of the car, finishing his stretch and walking around to the back of the car and opened the trunk once more, reaching in and pulling out James’ bags. He set them on the ground; there were three. Bond gave one glance up at the house then trotted to the trunk and picked up one bag in each hand.

“Help me with the last one, would you?” Bond asked Brian as he turned and began to walk up the path to the red front door. And old brass knocker that resembled a roaring lion adorned the door.

“’Course!” Brain called through the summer air. He picked up the last bag and followed James up the pathway to where he stood, arms relaxed. 

“Well,” Brian said, dropping the third and final bag at James’ feet. “Do you want me to help you move in or are you good?”

“I think I’m good, thanks Brian. Did you get my typewriter? I think it’s still in the trunk.”

Brian turned to look at the car sitting in the dirt before the lawn. “Right, I’ll get it.” He ran back down the path, looking through the back for a moment before he located it and reached both arms back came out with Bond’s typewriter. Brian grabbed the handle of the green case and hauled it with a shuffle back up the narrow gravel path. He handed it off to Bond when he reached him and James nodded his head with a grateful smile.

“Thanks Brian, you’ve been a great help. You’ve been an alright friend too.”

Brian rustled his hair with fake embarrassment, “Why thank you, James.” He reached forward the slap Bond’s shoulder amiably. “Take care of yourself, old friend. I’ll keep your good name intact and shoot down any rumor that arises, alright?”

“Yeah, hold down the fort mate. I’ll see you sometime this summer right? You’ll bring Janice and the kids down for a visit, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Brian decided. “Janice loves getting out of the city and it would do the kids some good. We’ll come up for a week or so later this summer.”

“Great! Sounds like a plan. See you, Brian. Thanks again for driving me up here.”

“No problem, gave me a chance to clear my head.” Brian smiled at James and turned to walk down the path. He stopped and turned back halfway down. “Take care of yourself James!” 

James nodded and waved as Brian got into his car, started it, and drove away down the drive. Bond dropped his hand as he disappeared into the green foliage and out of view. Bond watched the spot for another few minutes before turning to the door and grabbing the handle firmly. He turned it and it bent without resistance. James had been told that there was a house caretaker that stayed during the summer, but besides then, the house was left unattended. Which explained the massive overgrowth of the lawn and bushes surrounding the estate. 

He set his typewriter down inside the house and picked up and placed each bag inside as well. He stepped into the house, the wood floors creaking under his weight.

“Hello?” He called up through the open rafters on the ceilings and the large staircase the reached upwards to distant floors. No one answered after a few minutes so Bond called up again. This time a woman’s head appeared to look down at him from the top of the stairs.

“You’re Mr. Bond?” she called down, walking around a banister and stepping out to stand at the top of the stairs. 

“Yes,” James called. “I’ve got— I’ve got my stuff right here.” He said motioning to his bags stacked together in the open space past the door. 

“Right then, don’t dawdle. I’m the grounds keeper not your nanny. Carry your own bags up!”

Bond gave a quick start and nodded, turning to grab two bags in one hand and the remaining bag in the other. “Is my room up there?”

The young woman nodded and motioned to hurry up. Bond started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he reached the crest he saw the girl’s receding back swaying down the hallway to the left. She stopped at a door midway down the hall and to the left, pushing it open and looking back to see if Bond was following. At her back glance James hurried down the hall to where she waited, giving an apologetic smile for his slowness and entering through the open door. 

A double bed with sky blue sheets and white walls greeted him as he entered. The windows still held their mouth of and let their white tongues spill out so one could peek through and look at the backyard. There was the lake Bond remembered from childhood visits, glimmering in the afternoon light like shards of glass had been woven into its surface. A battered wooden dock stretched out into the water where a rowboat was tethered. Across the water Bond made out a small colorful speck.

“Neighbors?” James inquired, tilting his head to the side so the woman could hear his question.

“Your family sold some of the land to some rich people about ten years back. They built that house you see over there. Nice, isn’t it?”

“From what I can see yes,” Bond agreed, setting down his burden and crossing to the window for a better view. It was a pale yellow with the same ivy that crawled up Bond’s estate. James thought he saw a few rose bushes from where he stood but he wasn’t sure. “They know I’m here?”

“Yes, Mr. Bond. I’m sure one day this week you’ll be invited to dinner.”

“Right,” Bond said, turning from the window and getting a better look at his new companion. She was slender and tall with curves to die for. She wore a bright yellow fabric with a floral pattern and a high waisted brown belt. The neckline was drawn over her color bones in a modest fashion. She sported white heels with open toes. Her round eyes were framed by a fall of curly black hair. She was a Negro, but Bond didn’t believe in racism. Her eyelashes boasted their length and a clever smile played across her lips. 

“Your name?” Bond inquired.

“Eve Moneypenny. You can call me Eve, though.” She held her hand out, the other firmly planted to her waist. Bond reached out to grasp it, her hands were small and soft but her grip was firm and equalizing.

“Nice to make your acquaintance Eve. I’m James Bond, you can call me James.”

“It’s nice to meet you James. I’ll let you get settled, dinner’s in an hour— but only for tonight. I’m not your cook, you hear me?”

“I do.” He assured her.

“Good.” she said, making her way out the door with the clicking and clacking of her shoes to mark her progress. After her footsteps could no longer be heard about the house, Bond ventured downstairs to retrieve his typewriter that he had left by the door. He flitted back upstairs, not wishing to disturb Eve at her work in the kitchen.

He set the typewriter down upon the bed and dragged a wooden desk from the corner to beneath the window, liking the view better from there. He placed the typewriter on the desk and brought a chair over to sit down in. He sat quietly, staring out of the window and remembering vaguely summer sport by the lake with his family all those years ago. He had not been to the manor since he was eight or some age around that. He was an only child of a wealthy man who had died in a crash and a woman who had died of cancer only a few years after they came here last.

Bond looked out once more to the yellow house tucked away under the trees and wondered who lived there and if they were visiting with family and for how long. Perhaps company would not be such a vulgar thing if they didn’t know about his unfortunate circumstances for vacation. From his high perch Bond thought he saw a speck emerge from the house and walk slowly around the garden and to the edge of the lake. He looked out across the water as James did now and he wondered if the speck could see him from his window. 

The wind had died down and the white curtains hung limply now from the open windows. As the sun began to set the chill began to sink in its claws as well. Bond dragged the mess of curtains into the room and leaned out to pull the window shut, reaching for a few moments before he managed to grab a hold on it. As he gained purchase and started to shut it he looked back to the dot that seemed to be looking up at Bond as he closed the window. Bond stood still and returned the stare.

“Dinner!” Eve called up through the halls. 

Bond stared a moment longer before closing the window completely and turning away, starting for the door. 

“Coming!” Bond called in return, glancing back once more though he knew the speck couldn’t see him now. Was that the house’s owner or a guest? James shrugged and figured he would find out sooner or later when they invited him to dinner. He shut the wooden door to his room behind him as he made the walk down the dinning room. 

As he began to smell the dinner that awaited him, Bond decided that coming here was a good decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Second chapter with special thanks to my spectacular editor who helped me greatly! Enjoy and expect lots of mini talks in the future. Got to love character development. Enjoy!

Early the next day Bond awoke without the sound of cars roaring in the distance. He took a moment to relish in the silence and in the feeling of the sheets that wrapped around his body. He had kicked off a blanket in the night and was left with only a thin sheet to protect his body from the chill. 

He kicked the sheets off with a struggle and swung his feet off the bed. He dragged his toes lightly over the cool wooden floors to quell the throbbing in his toes that he sometimes had. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to another for a moment before wandering lazily around the room and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

He had not written last night and to be honest, he had not written for the last few months. Bond ruffled his hair fiercely with his hands, grunting in frustration. He thought back to what Brian had said about the lake; inspiration. 

Right, thought Bond, what ruddy inspiration is a collection of water going to give me?

Nonetheless, Bond dressed and slipped on shoes. He retrieved a small notebook in which to jot down any “inspiration” in and started down through the house. His stomach was not yet growling so Bond didn’t stop in the kitchen for a quick breakfast. He found his way through the halls and out of the back door.

He surveyed the grounds with skepticism; it seemed to him that the trees had limbs weighted down with grief and the birds sang sad songs. With one hand in his pocket and the other hung at his side holding his notebook, Bond continued towards the lake’s edge. 

He saw the ripple in the water the young man actually emerged. It was a disturbance in the dull murk of the lake’s surface, obscured by the hooded light filtering through the clouds. A white face appeared with eyes still closed tight against the water. His mouth was stretched into a wide “Oh!” as he took a gasping breath. Bond saw his shoulders next, broad with pale skin stretched tight over thin bone. Shadows danced in the pronounced hollows of his collarbones and glided up his outstretched neck. He was a mix of angles and soft curves and gangly limbs that were made to be seen by the sunlight. 

His eyes opened, wide and bright and curious, to take Bond in as he stood only a yard or two from the water’s edge. He brought his slim wrists and skinny arms out of the murky green water to push the sagging brown hair out of his eyes. He looked around for a moment before seeing Bond standing there, a dumbfounded expression on his face. 

“Hello!” he called as if Bond had imposed himself upon the boy and he was standing on his beach and not his own. He squinted against the sun and lifted a hand to shade his eyes. He continued to rise from the water and climb the bank to where rough patches of grass began. Bond stared at the bare and beautiful chest down which the water still trickled. He wore swimming trunks— thankfully. 

The spell broke with a resounding shatter inside of Bond’s skull, shaking him back into reality. 

“Uh— um, hello?” Bond stuttered back. He was not practiced in greeting strangers who climbed out of his lake. 

The boy cupped his ear, “Come again?”

Bond shifted his feet in mild frustration and shoved his hands deeper in to his pockets, “I said, ‘hello’.” 

“Oh,” the boy said, his face breaking into a toothy grin. “Yes, hello indeed. Have I swum to the other bank?”

“Yes,” Bond said, hoping for an apology. “Yes, you have.”

“Oh, well that’s impressive don’t you think? Quarter of a mile wide I’d say— that’s just a guess.”

Bond stood there, not sure what to make of the boy’s rude behavior. He watched him, with his silly smile and lengthy arms, one placed on each jutting hip. He acted as if he owned the ground he stood upon and he breathed the air with a self-satisfied attitude. 

“You’re not going to apologize?” Bond inquired in disbelief.

“What’ve I done wrong?” The boy asked in a genuine tone and a flick of his foot to shake away the mud.

“This,” Bond said, motioning wildly with one arm. “is my property!”

The boy lost his goofy smile for a moment but resumed it almost at once. He walked the remaining distance up the shore to stand in front of Bond, no longer squinting but looking directly into his face. Bond noted the pale blue of his eyes and the soft curves of his face. 

“Care to show me around?” He asked, bouncing slightly on his toes and then walking past Bond and away, towards the house. For a moment Bond couldn’t move and he merely stared over his shoulder at the boy’s receding back. 

“Oi!” Bond hollered. “Where do you think you’re going?” He followed after the boy as he reached the open backdoor. The boy grabbed the doorframe with one hand and placed his hand once more on his tiny waist to look back at Bond. “I said, ‘where do you think you’re ruddy going?’”

“Air’s cold. It’s still morning after all.” The boy leaned back on his heels and gave Bond a charming smile. “Thought it might be warmer inside your house.”

“You can’t just swim to other people’s land and then walk into their houses!” Bond spluttered, grabbing a hold of the door and yanking it out of the boy’s grip. 

His smile didn’t falter, “Where’s your hospitality?”

Bond’s confusion turned into anger, “I have no hospitality for strangers.”

“My name’s Q. What’s yours?” He stuck his hand out to shake Bond’s.

Bond studied Q intently, searching his eyes to see if he was sane or not. He looked him up and down once more, taking in his skin and the wiry muscle in his legs. A smile seemed to be sewn permanently onto his face. Only a few subtle blemishes marked his skin and most were on his forehead, obscured by his hair. 

Bond looked across the water to where Q’s house sat in its nest of trees and moss. He knew the type of people who lived in those houses, the men with assured smiles and women with jangling bracelets that shook with the echo of money. And then he looked back to Q and his plain unrelenting smile, his open face and his honest eyes; his demeanor, the way he held himself hinted at riches, but people wore masks. Bond had many.

Bond held out his hand after a time, “I’m James. James Bond.” 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, James. May I come inside?”

Bond gritted his teeth against the desire to refuse him and throw him back into the lake. Instead he kept his face straight, he responded, “Yes, of course. Just— just take my sweater, all right? I don’t want you tracking too much water into my house.”

He pulled his sweater up and over his head, jerking the sleeves off his hands. He handed it to Q who pulled at the fabric a moment to turn in right side out. He pulled it on and played with the cuffs before looking back up at Bond.

“Thank you,” he said before turning and walking through the door and into the house. Bond followed quickly after. 

Q shuffled through the hallways towards nowhere in particular, taking it in. The ceilings were high indeed and had left Bond struck with admiration for a moment when he first saw them. Beams of intricately carved wood supported the roof, and the hall walls themselves were painted a washed and faded blue. The long corridors ended in a quaint drawing room home to old armchairs. Q didn’t seem bothered by the disheveled room and sat down, comfortably enough, in one of the seats.

He crossed his delicate legs and stared at Bond who still stood in the hallway.

“You live in the house across the water?” Bond asked, placing a hand on a chair from behind.

“Yes,” Q smiled, toying with the fabric of the armchair. 

“How long are you staying?”

“For the summer. My parents, my brother, and I. What about you?”

“Just me.”

Silence.

“Why did you go for a swim at six in the morning?” Bond asked finally.

“Why are you living here alone?” Q countered, pulling his hands into the sleeves of Bond’s sweater.

None of your business, Bond thought, but he found himself saying, “No one to come here with.”

Q nodded, “And I’m tired of oppressive and imperious adults calling the shots. Plus, I like your house. It looks magical.”

“So you went swimming?”

“And you came to this house all alone for the summer. Your problem’s bigger than mine.”

Bond remained silent for a time, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Q so openly stated the things that were wrong and he did it without looking ashamed or apologetic. He made Bond feel naked, as if his secrets were trying to scuttle into the shadows and away from Q’s stare. Bond coughed into the crook of his arm, his throat irritated by the dust.

He imagined Diane sitting across from him, blonde-haired and green eyed and pale with a splashing of freckles. He thought of the day he had come home to find her packing her suitcases. She had yelled at Bond how much he was to blame and he had just stood there and taken it, convinced by her outrage. It had been three months now and Bond had shaken off the idea that it was more his fault than hers. But you never really scare away your demons. 

Bond blinked away the memory and the apparition from the room. His attention returned to Q sitting in the chair, his stare more worried than curious. 

“I’m sorry,” Q whispered. “That was rude. People have their reasons for things, you have yours.”

“But you’re right,” Bond laughed softly, sat down in the chair before him and leaned his head back against the seat. “It is a big problem, but yours isn’t small. You don’t feel it’s small when it’s the first time you’ve ever run into it. The pitfalls of being young! Every trouble you encounter and every dragon you face is the first trouble and the first dragon of it’s kind. It’s overwhelming.”

Q sat in silence for a moment and Bond did not look to see whether it was in shock or in awe or neither. 

“You’re the first adult to ever give me credit for my complaints.”

“They’re well founded, I suppose.” Answered Bond, sitting upright in his chair. "Do you plan on intruding the entire summer or is it a one-off thing?" Bond asked, briefly looking around the room. One couch and three chairs, the cloth that had covered them during their stay at Skyfall had been removed by Eve before Bond’s arrival. A wide table sat between the chairs Bond and Q sat in. A thin layer of dust coated the room as if to protect the memories that lingered there. Bond remembered being six years old and running in through the door Q had entered. He ran giggling up to his mother and climbed up into her chair where she sat with a book in hand and a blanket over her legs. Bond was happy then, such a sharp difference the years had brought. 

“Another answer to your question,” Q started, “The question of why I’m swimming so early.”

Pause.

“I’m a morning person.”

"Right well, will you be heading back now?" Bond asked.

Q broke his gaze to look around the room for the first time, "Yes," he paused. "Yes, um— of course. Sorry to intrude. My family was talking of inviting you to dinner one day soon. So, I suppose I'll see you again."

Q stood and began to remove Bond's sweater from his bony frame. "No," Bond stood. "Keep it for now. The morning's still quite cool." And despite your rude behavior, Bond thought, I really don't want you to catch a chill. He walked to where they had entered and motioned for Q to follow him. Together they walked back through the halls and out the back door, which Bond had unwisely left open. 

"Goodbye then, James," Q said, nodding his head and stepping outside. He walked off, stepping on the clumps of grass that broke through the dirt to spare his feet from the cold. Bond sighed and began to take off his shoes. 

"Q!" Bond called. Q looked back, confused for a moment before he saw the shoes in Bond's hands. The boy smiled, his arms folded across his body and his hands tucked away. He began to trudge back across the tufts, hopping gracefully back to the house.

Bond held out the shoes, "Take them, and don’t step in too much mud or any puddles. You hear me?"

Q beamed and took the shoes, one in each hand. "I do."

He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled the shoes on, then looked back back up at Bond with a childish gratitude, "Thank you."  
Bond nodded and folded his arm across his chest. "Next time you visit, come dry. Okay?"

Q's brows pulled together, "I can visit again?"

"Yes." 

"Why?"

"I'm a morning person too." Bond said. 

And there's something about you too, he thought, something interesting. Something beyond the echo of money and the empty pleasures it buys. Something honest and something real— and someone beautiful.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days after his introduction to Q Bond heard the loud growl of a car coming up the drive. He looked up from the notebook he had been writing in, gazing through the window to watch as the car rounded the final turn and parked. The door opened and out stepped woman a woman in soft green heels. Her brown hair was teased up into a large bun on her head and she wore a wide-skirted dark green dress with a broad white belt. She smoothed her dress quickly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She hurried up to the front door and Bond looked away just as heard her knocking. He jogged through the halls and to the front door where he stopped, took a breath, and opened it, revealing the woman standing the porch steps.

“Hello,” she greeted him sweetly. “My name is Ethel Adair. I live in the house across the water, we’re neighbors!”

Bond refrained from mentioning Q’s sudden visit, “Yes! Of course— hello. It’s lovely to meet you Mrs. Adair.”

“Oh, please, call me Ethel.”

“Ethel, then. Wonderful to meet you,” Bond repeated. “I’m James Bond. Please, come in.”

Bond took two steps back to give Ethel enough space to enter. She smiled and swished her hips, lips pursed in a polite manner and neck tall and lean like her son’s. Bond shut the door and led her down the corridor and into the living room just down the hall from the front.

She sat on a short and overstuffed couch and Bond sat opposite her in an armchair. She crossed her angles and sat with her joined legs to the side. She smiled a charming smile w that showed her teeth and took a moment to look around the room— it was one of the first that Eve had cleaned. 

“I would have prepared tea if I’d known you were going to drop by.” 

She nodded with a saccharine smile; “That’s quite alright, Mr. Bond. I was just hurrying over to invite you to dinner. Would tonight be convenient?”

Bond had no plans, “Yes, that sounds delightful. What time should I be over?”

“Around seven thirty, does that sound agreeable?”

“Yes, yes, that sounds— it’s splendid. I’ll be there, thank you for the invitation.” Bond stuttered, having not talked since morning he found his words getting hitched in his throat. 

“I’ll escort you to your car.”  
Ethel nodded and rose with grace and sashayed out of the room with her skirts—and Bond— following in her wake. 

She climbed back in the car and Bond watched her leave from the dirt drive, hands clasped behind his back. He hadn’t noticed when she arrived, but a uniformed chauffer drove the car.

Bond turned away and began to count the hours until the party would begin.

°°°

Their house was a marvel. Bright lights escaped through the tall windows that were left ajar. Music flowed and danced through the home, mingling with the friendly chatter of the Adair family and their guests. One large and lopping dog traversed the house, slipping around the corners and on the polished hard wood floors. Two smaller and much more energetic puppies trailed after him while sweeping the floors with their duster tails. The furniture was neat with clean edges and fabric. Each room had it’s own ethereal chandelier that gave the house its life. Straight-backed men whose every word had money behind it and women with their jingling bracelets, sitting with their ankles daintily crossed, exuded a contained energy that escaped through their laughter, bursting out with a sudden lean forward and a fond touch on a neighbors shoulder. 

Girls with long legs and lean shoulders held themselves tall and paraded around the floor with clacking heels and pursed lips. Men stood with wide placed legs, they reminded Bond of flags marking territory. A breeze blew in through the open windows and the people moved with it. There must have been twenty in the room besides Bond.

That explains why it was such short notice, Bond thought, The dinner isn’t for me; it’s a party.

Bond’s eyes strayed from women to men to women again. Their faces made no impression as he searched the room and Bond guessed their hair was more interesting than their personalities. Blond bob, brown bob, short curls and slightly longer curls— all belonging to the wrong person.

“Sir?” The voice was baritone and not Q.

Bond turned and remembered to smile, “Yes?”

The man’s hair was slicked back and his suit was sharp. His jaw was square and his eyebrows were locked into a challenging quirk. His deep-set blue eyes reminded Bond of Q’s.

“I’m Mr. Adair,” he introduced himself, his hand extended in greeting. “I understand my wife invited you. You live across the lake?”

“That’s me,” Bond joked. “The man across the lake.”

Mr. Adair chuckled softly and nodded politely at Bond’s failure to break the ice.

“I’m Bond, James Bond. It’s a pleasure Mr. Adair.”

This time Mr. Adair’s smile was genuine as Bond remembered his manners. “Do you like your stay in Yorkshire so far?”

“Yes, yes I do. I used to come here with my parents as a child.”

“They’re not visiting with you now?”

“No, they’re not.” Bond said, sparing himself the apologies from Mr. Adair.

Adair’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the acquaintances that his money had brought him. His eyes snapped back to Bond after he spied a particular someone across the room.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Bond. I’ve just seen my son.”

Bond’s head snapped around to watch Mr. Adair walk towards a man taller and broader than Q standing among a group of laughing girls. Q had mentioned a brother and Bond was putting his money on this jester. 

Bond turned when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Q stood there, looking up with easy familiarity. “Hello,” he said, the corners of his lips fighting to form a smile. “I’m Q Adair, it’s nice to meet you, Mr.—”

Bond smiled politely, “Bond. Lovely home you have here, Mr. Adair.” 

Q waved his hand around irritably, “It’s too big for four people. Too big for twenty people, even.” Bond nodded in agreement. Even in this one room alone, which held all the guests, there was room to spare. 

“Is that your brother?” Bond asked, motioning with his head to where the larger version of Q stood, now accompanied by Q’s father.

“Yes. That’s Robert, doesn’t he just ooze charm?” Q asked sarcastically. “He’s popular with women. Women aren’t my talent.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s in his final year of University, studying law. Of course,” Q scoffed, “Our grandfather on my father’s side was a lawyer so father wanted one of us to follow in his footsteps. Robert’s always been the crowd pleaser so he did it. Happy day for me, I can do something else.”

“What do you want to do then?”

Bond caught sight of Mr. Adair waving Q over to the biggest crowd in the room.

“I haven’t the faintest, talk to me later if you’ve any bright ideas.” Q said, the last half spoken as he walked away. Bond could sense the strained smile on his face and decided he was right about Q. He wasn’t the money-grubbing rich person that his parents were; he was something else entirely. But what that something was Bond didn’t know.

°°°  
The people intermingled for another half an hour or so before someone came to announce that dinner was ready. Mrs. Adair— Ethel— guided them through an immaculately carved wooden doorway and into a grand dinning room. Bond looked up and another heavenly chandelier with paintings of angels resting upon clouds that decorated the ceiling. The place was the paragon of class and its fine silverware gave Bond a growing sense of unease. Skyfall was elegant, yes, but it was a place bowed down by the years.

Bond took his seat conveniently placed next to Q, who leaned over to explain, “My mother didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, seeing as how you don’t know anyone here. She figured I would be polite and amiable, so here you are.”

“Convenient.” Bond said shortly as he pulled out the chair to sit.

Q mirrored his movement; “Well maybe I had a little say in the matter.” Q confessed with hands in the air, surrendering. “You’re the most interesting person at this party. I guarantee it.”

Interesting— that’s not a word Bond would use to describe himself. He sat down and leaned closer to Q, resting his elbow on the hand rest of his ornate chair.

“Your mother seems nice,” Bond noted, picking up a silver fork and reflecting the chandelier’s light off of it.

Q huffed and settled back in his chair, relaxing his shoulders, “She’s polite, there’s a difference. But she seems to like you— she’d like you better if I had a sister.”

Servants entered in single file, separating quickly and diffusing throughout the room. They poured red wine from cut-glass pitchers into the glasses placed in front of each guest. As they finished they each took a place by the wall, silent and studying. 

“I’ve tried my hand at women, they’re a tricky bunch.” Bond responded dryly, reaching for his glass and bringing it to his lips. He saw Q turn his head to look directly at him, no expression, as if he had said something that Q was processing. Bond glanced at him and looked again, their eyes locking. “What?” Bond questioned as Ethel stood and lightly tapped her glass with her knife, sending a high-pitched, resounding tone through the space. Everyone grew quiet and Q broke their bond to turn and look at his mother. 

“Welcome!” She chimed agreeably. “It’s a delight to have you all here tonight. Mr. Adair and I are so happy to have your company! We hope you enjoy dinner. Here’s to a wonderful evening.”

She lifted her glass and everyone else, also immersed in the warm joy of the party, copied her. “Cheers!” They cried together, some off beat and compensating with embarrassed laughter.

Dinner was served and the sloshing of wine and passed the time. Q and Bond shared a few hushed conversations. Smiles spread like a plague, seeming eager to grace the faces of the gathered guests. Robert sat across from Bond with a girl on either side; both wore smiles on their faces and their hearts on their sleeves. They hardly tried to disguise their stares of utter fascination with the well-endowed young law student. Their red and brown curls bounced as their shrill laughs shattered the moments of near silence. Bond turned away to look at Q, his quaint smile charming in the pleasant light. His curls bounced as someone across the table managed to make him laugh. Bond envied the successful bloke, earning that gorgeous smile. Bond looked away as Q looked to him, having sensed eyes on him. Q reached over to tap Bond’s shoulder, drawing his focus.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked as a joke, turning his smile up a few notches. 

Bond shook his head and smiled despite himself, “Not particularly. This isn’t my crowd.”

Q nodded and he understood, “Unfortunately, it’s the crowd I was born into.”

He took a sip from his glass, staring at Bond from over the brim. “You don’t like it? At all?”

“Not at all,” Q ratified. 

“Not the money or the parties— the bright lights and the clothes? None of it?”

“It’s a fake light, not real light. The money’s just paper, the people are fictitious, the clothes, well— they’re all right. I envy the clothes.”

Bond chortled and was thankful there was no wine in his mouth, “Yes, I’ll agree with you there. Clothes are good— people are bad. Well, at least some of the people.”

Q gave Bond a small, wan smile and leaned back in his chair and turned away. He seemed pleased. Bond smiled to himself and turned as well, suddenly glad he had been invited.

°°°

After dinner, people with full stomachs and blurred vision stumbled around while leaning on their friends for support. The laughter died down into a flat, dull buzz, as people lost some of the zeal from earlier in the night. Bond sat, content to be alone, away from the life of the after party that was stranded together on long couches. 

Girls floated from where they were buoyed at their couches and began to drift towards Bond. They wore demure smiles and lustrous dresses as they approached in a group. They looked to be about Q’s age and Bond surveyed them with a disinterested and dissatisfied gaze. They approached discreetly and Bond chuckled at their attempt. The boldest of the group broke free to march with purpose. She stopped in front of Bond and popped her hip out, her skirts flowing out around her. 

“I’m Nancy Hancock,” she announced with pursed little red lips. 

Bond gave her a small smile, only to be polite, “I’m James Bond.”

“Brilliant to meet you. My friends,” she said, motioning behind her. “Are nervous to meet you. You’re rather attractive.”

“Uh— why, thanks.”

“Your very welcome,” she responded with a sly wink. “So I understand you’re staying at the house across the lake?”

“Yes, you’ve heard correctly.”

“It must get so lonely, being there all alone.” Her voice dropped a few octaves and her eyebrows drew together.

“Um, yes…well—” Bond stuttered, looking around for some sort of savior. 

Q stalked close to the walls, catching Bond’s gaze as he had earlier, from across the room. He walked in long strides to where Bond sat and stopped just an arm’s length away.

“Greetings, again!” Q hailed. “Do you have the time to talk about what we were discussing earlier?” he asked vaguely, speaking boldly to scare off the girls. Nancy coughed and when she was ignored, retreated back to her group. Q smiled triumphantly but didn’t look back to see her go. “Like it better now that the energy’s faded?”

“Thank you for that, Q.”

“You looked like your were in a tricky situation so I hurried over here. And besides, Nancy and her gang aren’t nearly as fun as they look.”

Bond nodded his head, “About earlier— about what you wanted to do, besides not being a lawyer— I haven’t come up with much.”

Q shoved his hands into his pocket and rocked forward, “Care to share?”

“Well, you could be a swimming instructor,” Bond grinned along with Q at the proposition. “You could be an artist, though I don’t know if you’ve the talent.” Bond teased; “Or you could be a poet, I can see that.”

Q’s expression went from bold to secretive and he looked down at his feet, his smile growing.

“What?” Bond ducked his head to meet Q’s eyes. “What did I say?”

“I do not know what it is about you,” Q began, startling Bond. “That closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. No one, not even the rain, has such small hands.”

“That’s…beautiful.” Bond commended. 

“It’s E E Cummings, the poem’s called, ‘As the Rain’. It’s my favorite line of poetry.” Q brought his smile up once more. “I was smiling because you said poet and I love poetry. No-one’s ever guessed. You’re the first.”

Q laughed shyly, seeming to realize he was dangerously close to overstepping, but Bond didn’t mind. He found the familiarity comforting and easy and without either of them realizing it, the line moved back a little.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update. Enjoy.

The next time Q visited they walked along the road, which was lined with bushes shaking gently in the brisk wind. The earth was packed hard and a decaying old stonewall snaked its way beside the path. Q walked along it, taking his steps with a stumbling pace, starting and stopping, wobbling as he went. The overhanging trees that prayed with clasped hands and twined branches hung above them now as they had done when Bond had first arrived. 

The friendly summer light kissed Q’s hair a deep chestnut brown. He wore a white button up shirt, loose, grey trousers kept up by brown suspenders and no shoes. He looked so casual, prancing across the stones and laughing occasionally at Bond’s attempt at jokes. He wasn’t sure whether the laughs were in appreciation for the attempt or for the joke itself. But Bond enjoyed this, this warm and effortless banter they had going as they continued their walk.

“What do you think of the world?” Bond asked, hands tucked deeply into his pockets and his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Half full or half empty; optimist or pessimist?”

Q held his arms out for balance as he continued his tottering down the wall, “The world is made of Sunday mornings with pale light, wrapped in blankets with a cup of tea and your lover next to you.” Q relinquished his balancing act and jumped down to walk beside Bond. “But those days aren’t everyday. And once you’ve known them it’s cruel to live without them.”

“Realist, then?” Bond asked after a beat.

“I wish I were an optimist,” Q laughed, and murmured. “But that’s like saying I wish I were blind.”

Bond nodded and looked sideways at Q and saw he was returning the look. “Bright things blind people, but only for a moment. And it is summer, after all.”

“Can people be bright things?”

“Well,” Bond started, clearing his throat. “Yes, I suppose they can. People can make you feel immortal and when you’re immortal everything seems—”

“Infinite,” Q finished, nodding and looking away. “And therefore hopeful.”

Bond nodded though he didn’t think Q was looking. Definitely, Bond thought kindly, there are definitely blinding people in this world. He stole a furtive glance at Q and then looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes with his hand.

There are dazzling things in this world, things even brighter than the sun, and Q is irrefutably one of them. Bond smiled and continued down the path.

 

°°°  
Two days after their walk down the road Q came again, this time running straight towards the woods. He called behind him for Bond to follow while he threw his arms to the side and claimed he was flying. 

Bond called after Q to stop but his pleas were wasted on ears already too far away to hear. 

So Bond raced after him before he put any shoes on. 

The grass and underbrush whipped at Bond’s calves through the fabric of his pants as he ran through the thicket of trees. Morning dew still clung to ferns surrounding the trunks and the earth under his feet. Bond could hear Q’s laughter flying back at him on a thin wind. It bounced off trees and the tiny rocks beneath the grass that stabbed at Bond’s feet. Bond was grinning, dashing through the trees barely aware of the branches trying to hold him back with thin fingers. 

Through the rush of wind against his ears Bond heard Q’s voice calling back, “Faster!”

But Bond’s breath was growing labored and he could barely see Q through the thick trees. He slowed and stood, the cold of the earth creeping into his feet. He put his hands on his hips and heard the insects humming and the birds singing all together with a mixture of pitches; then he heard the hushed pad of feet working their way back. 

“James?” Bond turned, feeling the tickle of plants crushed underfoot. “James, why’d you stop?”

“You forget my age, Q,” Bond admonished. 

“Never forgotten,” Q remarked, leaning against a tree. “Only overlooked. Besides, I like being chased. People only chase important things.”

“You’re important,” Bond assured him, walking around a tree and to where Q stood.

Q shifted his weight on the tree from his shoulder to his hip, standing more upright, “You’re not much of a man for words.”

Bond looked up to where the light fell through the spaces in the branches. “Not so much that I’m not one for them as that I can’t convey my meaning. Better to be the silent and respectable man than the bumbling idiot.”

“Do you usually pursue the company of your juniors?” Q asked, having already turned away and followed some invisible trail back the way they’d come.

Bond followed, taking long strides at first to catch up and walking next to Q. “You’re not a usual junior.”

“A compliment but not an answer,” Q scolded, pushing a grasping bush branch out of their way.

“No,” Bond agreed, nodding at Q to thank him and moving ahead. He paused to wait as he caught up. “No, not usually.”

“Then why me?”

Bond considered a moment before he answered, “I feel,” he began, already regretting his choice of words, “as if I have known you much longer than I have.”

“How much longer?” Q asked merrily, with a quick bounce in his step and a bite to his lip. Bond looked over to where Q’s face was colored green from the light through the lush canopy. 

“Too long.”

“Too long? How can you know someone for too long?”

“You know,” Bond said, swinging his arms as he got into the conversation. “You can’t hide your secrets, you feel bare when they’re around. There’s nothing left to be secret and everything’s plain.”

“I can’t see through your lies,” Q comforted.

“You haven’t had the chance. I’ve never lied to you.”

“Would you?”

Bond shrugged. 

“Would you?” Q repeated.

Bond sighed, “No, I don’t think I would.”

“Then may I ask you a question?”

“Please.” Bond answered, gesturing for Q to continue. 

“Do you think Nancy Hancock is attractive?” Q asked, passing Bond when he stopped in his tracks briefly. Q emerged from the woods and back onto the road and stopped to cover his eyes from the sudden glare of the sun. He looked both ways down the road, considering. He jumped with one easy movement over the stonewall, landing with a satisfying thump on the other side. Bond came out after him, sitting down on the wall before swinging his legs over.

Nancy Hancock— the young and flirtatious girl from the party? Why would Q care if he thought her attractive? His brow knotted and he mirrored Q’s action of shading his eyes. Bond stayed seated on the wall and Q stood with his back to him.

“Well?” Q sounded after a pause. 

Nancy’s lips were full like her curves. She was not quite skinny but she held her weight well. Her lipstick had been applied immaculately and her eyelashes were thick and full. But nothing about her drew Bond; he found himself wishing for short curls rather than a bob. Thin, pink lips as opposed to thick, red ones.

“She’s beautiful, anyone would tell you that. It’s just a fact,” Bond stated to Q. 

“Do you like her?” His voice was almost lost, even with only the weak wind. 

“No,” Bond answered shortly, curious about why Q was asking. “Why do you want to know?”

Q spun around with a broad smile and legs set apart. “She wouldn’t stop asking about you after you’d left. I told her I’d ask about your interest in her… if it existed.”

Bond was still convinced her heard something cold under Q’s blithe tone. “All right, well you can give her a gentle ‘no’ from me.”

“Will do,” Q replied, clearly heartened. “Would you like to head back?”

“Yes, of course,” Bond said, rising from his rest. Then, “Q, did something happen?”

“Something like what?” Q asked, perturbed.

“Something with your parents or your brother?” Bond chased the subject, taking a step away from the wall.

“Why do you ask?” Q inquired with a defensive edge to his voice.

“When you came this morning— you just, I— something seemed strange. You just ran off and you said you liked being chased, that it makes you feel important. What happened?”

Q’s shoulder slumped with a sudden lack of exuberance, “And you say you’re worried about your secrets being revealed.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Q stared before waving away the offer. “No, no, I want to on some level. It’s really not big; the little things just build up after a while. My mother insisting I marry, my father ordering me to go to college. My brother’s shadow is darker than ever— too easy to get lost in.” Q let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just been too much for too long.”

Bond placed a reassuring hand on Q’s shoulder and the young man gazed up at him. Their eyes locked and Bond was the first to break away. 

“Come over more often if it helps.”

Q nodded with a small grin that communicated his gratitude. Bond began to walk towards home, Q’s back swaying ahead of him. 

“I don’t want to get”— a thoughtful pause— “stuck.”

“Stuck where?”

“Not stuck somewhere, just stuck in general.” Q sighed. “Stuck in a job I don’t want, with people I don’t love.”

“Is that what’s wrong? You’re stuck?” Bond asked, hands in his pocket. 

Q paused. “Have you ever been in love?”

Bond’s step faltered for a moment. “I thought I was once.”

“Who?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Bond deflected the question, his skin beginning to crawl at the memory of pitying eyes and sad smiles.

“Opening up is a two way street, James.”

“I’ve got a few roadblocks,” he claimed, managing to stifle a laugh but allowing a smile.

“Road blocks? Come up with a decent excuse if you’re going to give one!” Q’s tone held only a dash of bitterness.

“Her name was Diane. We were never married, only engaged. I came out here to get away from the pity of my friends and here I am telling someone all about it. I’m a bloody fool.”

Bond saw Q’s back shake with laughter, “But you’re an honest one. Thank you.”

Bond thought back to what Q had said minutes before… and you say you’re worried about your secrets being revealed. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt the connection between them. He allowed himself a small smile before he reached Q’s side. They continued in silence; they didn’t need to speak.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry it has taken so long to update! Please forgive me and I hope this chapter is entertaining. For future chapters I was wondering what type of relationship developments you would like to see, if any. Thank you.

The room hummed with life and heat as people were introduced and forgotten almost in the same instant. Laughter spilled out of mouths like wine out of a glass and filled the room with intoxication. Women’s perfume clogged Bond’s nose and tickled the lining of his throat. Flashes of color marked the dance floor where people sweated and smiled in equal and prodigious amounts. A live band played the music and the percussion instruments of the trombones and trumpets beat into Bond’s skull with an unforgiving bluntness. Something about the air made his eyes water and his fingers were constantly at them, rubbing them raw. 

Tables draped with white cloths stood around the space, each with their own array of chairs— some vacant and some filled. Bond took an empty chair at a table equally desolate and enjoyed the peace of not being rammed with elbows and buffeted by hips and shoulders. Bond leaned back and closed his eyes, bringing his hands to his lap to rest. The music still swirled in his mind but without the image, the scene was somehow less irritating. Bond was never really one for crowds, despite the fact that he lived in London. But that was more because Diane had family there and he hadn’t the money to energy after the split. 

Bond let out a deep sigh and started to second-guess his being here. He doubted Q wanted him here after what he had said twelve days earlier. Twelve days was hardly enough time to recover from betrayal, Bond knew that from experience. But he had found himself getting dressed for the event anyway. From the beginning, something about Q had drawn Bond to him and that still hadn’t faded. But what could Bond say to make Q forgive him, what would he even do if he got that far? 

“Excuse me? Sir?” A small voice was barely audible over the din. “Sir, are you sleeping?”

Bond opened his eyes and mumbled, “I don’t know how anyone could sleep with this noise.”

He sat up and rolled his neck. The girl was short and thin, too thin to carry any curves with her but she had an innocent beauty about her that wasn’t completely unattractive. Her hair was a light and airy blond and her eyes were a deeper blue than Q’s. She vaguely reminded Bond of Diane but this girl had a sharper nose.

“Can I help you?” Bond asked, sitting up.

“Yes, this— I was…I was sitting here before,” she squeaked.

Bond sighed and stood, offering her the chair. She gave Bond a shrill thank you before moving past him without brushing his suit and sat stock still and straight as an arrow, staring out at the crowd. Bond pulled up a chair near to her, but not so near she felt the need, out of politeness, to strike up a conversation. Apparently Bond’s subtle chair placement was too sly.

“Sir?” she asked again in her mousy little voice. Bond’s eyes flickered over to her then back to attention, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard her. “Sir?”

Bond refrained from a deep sigh and turned in his chair to face her, smiling brightly, “Yes?”

She held out a tiny hand, “My name’s Laura Walters, it’s nice to meet you.”

She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “You’re a friend of Q’s then?”

Bond couldn’t bring himself to laugh though he wanted to, “Yes, but more acquaintances than friends. I live across the lake.”

“I’m James Bond,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand with a soft grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’ve heard about you!” she exclaimed without thinking that she might be asked to share what she had heard about him.

Bond’s face expressed surprise, “Heard of me?”

She seemed to realize her misstep, “Only— only good things, of course.”

“Of course.” Bond turned back to watch the dancing.

He had seen no sign of Q, only Robert, continuing his habit of parading with a girl on either side. Bond stood and turned to the girl, excusing himself, and began to walk around the perimeter of the room. 

Robert caught his eye from the heart of the party, beckoning him over. Bond looked around, debating it, before making a straight line for Robert, hoping that no one would interrupt. He managed, scooting politely past men and woman congregated in clumps, to reach Robert with no one making an attempt to strike up conversation.

“James!” Robert announced in a booming voice partially lost in the noise, arms outstretched. He slapped Bond’s shoulder and draped an arm round his neck. “Now listen, James. I’ve got a dozen doe-eyed girls wandering around this evening just waiting for strapping young man like you to take them away!” Robert added a slap to Bond’s chest for emphasis.

Bond stepped out of Robert’s arm. “I think it would be a little strange hunting for easy women with a man half my age.”

Robert’s smile didn’t falter, “But you hang around with my brother all the time. And he’s even younger than me!”

Bond paled slightly at the passive aggressive note in Robert’s voice, but he put on his best apologetic smile, “Well, yes— of course. Lead the way, then.”

Robert clasped Bond around the shoulders once more, a baby bird putting his wing around an adult, and led Bond from the center of the throng. They stopped at smaller groups of women, all parting to allow the handsome Robert Adair to enter their midst and whispering and giggling as he turned his eyes on them. Bond smiled and shook hands when it was necessary, all the while keeping an eye out for Q.

“So, Mr. Bond,” a girl cooed, causing Bond to turn back to the conversation. “What do you do?”

The girl who had asked was Nancy Hancock, seductive curves and all, lip slightly bitten. 

“Please, call me James,” Bond replied with a disinterest that could be mistaken for shyness. He grabbed a glass from a passing tray.

“It feels like ages since I’ve seen you James,” she flirted, emphasizing his name. 

“Has it?” Bond replied shortly, not knowing what else to say. He took a sip.

“I was talking with James here earlier,” Robert began, leaning in like he was sharing a secret. All the women leaned in too. “He was saying how much he loved to dance”— Bond rolled his eyes— “so I was wondering if any of you ladies would take care of him for just a bit while I go take care of something.” 

“I’d love to,” Nancy shot out quickly, grabbing Bond’s hand and leading him out before any of the other girls could protest. Bond allowed himself to be led, more out of shock than the desire to dance.

Nancy did not do much talking as they danced, but she eyed Bond with a carnal desire that made him look anywhere but her eyes. Bond was repeating Q’s name over and over again in his mind, numbing all other thoughts. He searched, eyes flitting from profiles to turned heads to unfamiliar faces. 

The song ended and Bond absentmindedly tried to leave— Nancy stopped him. 

“I’m not finished with you yet, James,” she said as if he was to be happy about that. 

Bond gave a weak smile, aware some of his contempt was beginning to show in his eyes; a new song started. A sea of heads made a wave through Bond’s vision, rising and falling in their own separate dances. He looked back to Nancy, her eyes sparking at Bond’s glance. Every polite gesture seemed to have this girl convinced Bond was interested. 

Bond spied Robert circling to the other edge of the room accompanied a girl with short brown curls and wearing a red dress with a plunging back. Bond’s eyes fixed wistfully on the woman’s hair.

A hand sliding down his chest brought Bond’s eyes snapping front and center. Nancy had shuffled closer, hands running repeatedly up and down his chest. Bond grabbed her wrists and removed them.

“Nancy,” Bond hollered above the pandemonium, “I am sorry to be so blunt but I am not interested in the slightest.”

She gave him a coy smile and grabbed his tie, pulling him closer and whispering in his ear, “Don’t be silly, I’m better than that little slut, Q.”

Bond ripped her wrist away, precipitating a gasp from Nancy as she cradled it. He took two steps, closing the distance between them, “Let me make myself perfectly clear.” Bond spoke with an unsettling calm. “You speak that way about him and I will—”

A clap on the shoulder.

Bond broke away, his anger breaking as Robert’s cheeky grin filled his vision, obviously convinced his trick had worked. “You can have her,” Bond spat, striding away and to an abandoned table. 

He plopped back down in his chair, surprised by how fast this night was turning to shit.

“Something wrong?” Robert had crossed the floor after Bond. He pulled up a chair.

“Nothing I can explain,” Bond replied, and then added, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You left me stranded in a sea of carnivorous women. I know it’s your natural habitat but really, Robert?” Bond set his glass on the table, dabbing with a napkin at the parts of his shirt that had been spilled on.

“I thought you two would hit it off.”

Bond chuckled in a fit of cruel laughter, “You were wrong.”

Pause.

“I’m sorry, that was impolite. I appreciate your efforts, Robert.”

“No damage done.” Robert’s grin returned. 

“Now go be young,” Bond encouraged, remembering his own age. 

Robert got up, his smile dimming to become more sincere, then back to full voltage as he turned to go. He disappeared into the mass, a black shoulder against a purple dress as he wedged his way in and then he was gone. Bond released breath he didn’t know he was holding and settled back into his chair. He shut his eyes, images of Q’s smiles flickering through his mind like a film— the sound of his laugh and the color of his eyes wide open; half-lidded; eyebrows drawn; the little humming noise he made before he spoke— they all flashed by. All of those tiny moments, those quick backward glances when he was just a silhouette against the sun and the days his hair was a matte brown color and then the good days the sun made it light brown. Bond opened his eyes with a small smile on his lips.

He played with his thumbs in his lap, contemplating the possibility of those moments being the last of their kind. Songs ended and began without much notice from Bond; half an hour passed; a sweaty, fat man sat down, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief before leaving. 

The music stopped and the sudden drop in the noise refocused Bond’s attention to the band’s main stage. Mr. Adair stood there, the singer’s microphone placed in front of him.

He cleared his throat. “I would like to thank you all for coming to celebrate my son, Q’s, twenty-first birthday.”

A loud round of applause. 

“And I have a special announcement for you all tonight. Q, is to be married this August on the 21st.”

Bond’s heart dropped and skipped. 

“Let’s welcome the groom-to-be to the stage along with his wife Laura Walters.”

More applause as Q took the stage, smiling politely, his bruising faded. Bond dug his nails into his leg. The world slowed, people’s hands coming together and parting in slow motion, their smiles growing gradually. Bond stood, cold beads of sweat dampening his forehead. With eyes on the floor, watching feet meet heels and loafers, Bond maneuvered his way out of the crowd, entering a hall. He slammed into its wall, his turn too sharp and his vision blurring. He heard his fist hit wood and the sting followed by blunt pain and wet dripping through his fingers. He found the stairs, stumbling upward in search of the bathroom. Bond had a growing sensation he was going to throw up. His hand fell to a knob, he twisted it and entered, finding peace in the dark room. There was no chair to be found within three steps from the door; Bond slumped to his knees next to the bed. 

And there he sat, the roar of applause now fainter through the walls. The haze dissipated like mist in the sun. His eyes adjusted to the darkness; he spied a bed, a chair across the room, carved tables. 

His head drooped, resting on one knee and he closed his eyes, the film started up again— they snapped open. Bond wiped the sweat from his face, a warm smear of blood taking its place. He sighed, strangely calmed by the wounds on his knuckles. Time passed, the ticking of a clock somewhere in the darkness marking its beat.

A knock at the door and the click of it opening.

“James?”

Bond’s head rose wearily, “Q?”

Q flipped the light on, drawing a wince from Bond. There was a tense pause.

“James, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d come. Not after—” 

“You’re getting married.” It was all Bond could manage to say.

“Yes,” Q said hesitantly.

“I should say congratulations.”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be engaged, Q,” Bond hissed venomously. 

“Well, I am,” Q said with a note of defeat in his tone. 

“I hate her already,” Bond remarked, leaning his head against the frame of the bed.

“Maybe you should go, James—”

“Please, don’t turn me out. I came to say something.” Bond rose to his feet shakily. 

“If you came to tell me not to come again, I—”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

Q stopped and stared, his hands crossed over his chest. Bond took his silence as the cue to speak. 

“You’re not my friend,” Bond began, hurrying along as he saw Q begin to roll his eyes. “You’re more than that. But you’re not my lover and I don’t know where that leaves us.”

“Sounds like it leaves us nowhere,” Q spat bitterly.

“I want us to be somewhere!” Bond blurted out, covering the break in his voice with more rambling. “So please, please don’t say that.”

“Where do you want to be then?” Q asked, taking a few tentative steps.

Bond began to groan, “What’s wrong with me, Q?” He took a shaky breath. Q grasped his arm and steadied him. He began again angrily, “I’ve know you for only weeks, Q! Weeks! And I want you so much more than I ever wanted her! How is that? How’s it fair? What’s wrong with me, Q?”

Q led Bond to his bed and sat him down, reaching a hand up to stroke his hair. “Nothing, James. Nothing’s wrong with you, don’t worry.” He kissed Bond’s forehead softly. “Don’t worry, James. I’m here and you’ll be fine. I want to be somewhere with you too,” Q whispered against his hair.

Bond’s defenses melted in a moment.

Quiet, hitching breaths shook Bond as he reached a hand up and placed it over Q’s, tracing circles with his thumb. “I love you, Q,” he breathed softly.

“I love you too, James. Do you understand that? I love you. Not Laura, no one else except you.”

“It feels strange saying it out loud,” Bond noted, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. 

“It does. But I think I could get used to it.”

Bond lifted his head to look into Q’s eyes, only lingering for a moment before he brushed their lips together. It was steady at first, tentative, and Bond could hear Q’s shaking breaths. Q’s lips triggered some sort of happy burst in Bond’s mind that left him in a state of euphoria. After they pulled away he didn’t remember exactly how Q had kissed him or for how long. He knew, though, that it was the only way he would ever want to be kissed again. 

Their faces only centimeters apart, Q whispered, “Kiss me again.”

Their lips met again, Q’s kiss soft and yielding. Bond’s hands wrapped their way around Q’s thin, delicate hips, pulling him closer. Q draped his arms around Bond’s neck, his fingers playing with Bond’s hair.

“Q, Mother was wonderi—”

Q broke away first, his eyes turning to meet Robert’s, who stood in the doorway. 

It was so quick, the roar of— “Queer!”— from Robert as he lunged for Bond, shoving Q to the floor. Bond’s arm reached for Q; his head snapped ‘round as Robert’s fist connected with his cheek. The heat and sting of flesh against flesh friction ignited in Bond’s face. Robert was straddling his hips in less than a blink, his fist beating down on Bond.

“Robert, stop. Robert, you’re hurting him! Robert stop, please!” Bond heard Q cry as a pale hand appeared to rake down Robert’s scalp. Robert turned; Bond heard the snap of a connecting blow; a yelp. He turned back to Bond, raising his fist—

Bond’s arms were locked around Robert’s neck and his knee landing a blow into his diaphragm as cold rage swept through him. Robert’s breath left him and his eyes widened as Bond shoved him away. He stood, stumbling over Robert’s legs to where Q lay, cradling his face. Tears streamed down, mixing with the blood. Bond dropped to his knees, vision distorted as his cheek began to swell. He lifted Q’s tiny frame into his arms, holding him as close as he could manage.

“Are you all right, Q?”

“Stupid question,” Q whispered.

“Get away…from…my brother…pervert.” Robert wheezed from his slump by the table.

“James, go.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, fag…” Robert’s threat was a barely audible hiss of breath. 

“I’m not going to just—” Bond protested as Q broke away from his hold, dropping his hand from his cheek.

“James, this isn’t the time to grow a backbone.” Q urged.

“But, Robert—”

“If you and I walk out like this it will confirm rumors.” Q reasoned, pushing Bond towards the door.

“I’m sure Robert will do that for us.”

“James,” Q’s voice softened, his hands cupping Bond’s jaw. “Please, just go.”

Bond and Q stood together— Bond pressed one more kiss to Q’s lips before pulling away.

‘The back door to the garden is downstairs and down the hall to the left. Leave quickly, don’t let anyone see you.”

“What will you do about—?”

“My brother, my problem,” Q retorted quickly.

“If he lays another finger on you, I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing.” Q finished sternly. “I love you, James Bond. Now get out of here.”

Bond backed to the door keeping his eyes locked with Q’s. “Be careful.”

Q gave Bond a mix between a sad smile and an apologetic one as he slipped out the door, closing it behind him. He slunk down the stairs; blood rushing in his ears and masking the sounds of the festivities. He hesitated, looking back to the stairs before taking the left hallway.

Bond slipped out of the garden door, looking back to the house that dripped with light. He turned his back on the house and walked away, echoes of “I love you” rattling around in his head.


	7. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry it's taken so long to update. But here it is, hope it's enjoyed as much as the other chapters! I'll try to get chapter 6 up quicker. Also, I'm sorry it's pretty short.

Bond sat back from his typewriter, fingers stiff with mad typing. He clenched and released his hands, enjoying the sound and feeling of his fingers cracking. He stared at the page before him, neat with little black letters lined up across the page. The table was home to scattered papers of the same appearance. Bond smiled and brought his arms up above his head, hands twined. 

He had spent the last few hours with nothing but the sound of the birds that always seemed to be singing and the erratic click of machinery. Eve had entered once or twice maybe, setting a glass of water down besides Bond on the table. She had mumbled something about not being his maid and left. He could sense her pause and look back at the door— but she always closed it behind her. 

Q’s remark about not being stuck had struck a chord within Bond, allowing needed pieces to fall into their place. It had been a week since Q’s resonating comment and he had come over for breakfast everyday. Q had left before noon and Bond had spent every hour after— until dusk— writing.

It was unmatched happiness, being able to write, to get the thoughts out, after so much time keeping them in. He wrote of repressed anger towards Diane, self-loathing for how spineless he had been when she left, and his reservations about taking steps to move on. Bond realized he no longer felt love for Diane, only the loss of the comfort she provided. There had been no excitement— only an easy routine that comes with years of customary actions. 

Bond snatched the paper from its hold in the typewriter and threw the sheet with the rest. He kneaded his brow with his knuckles and blinked hard as his vision began to dance with odd shapes and colors. 

The window that the desk stood behind was open to the warm, summer breeze. The drapes hung out— all was as it had been when Bond had first come up to this room. But now he could write. And it wasn’t the house, or the nature, or the birds— it was Q.

A bird called, once, twice, closer, closer, gone. 

There was a knock at the door and Bond turned to see Eve, an envelope in her hand. “A letter for you, Mr. Bond.”

“Yes,” Bond started, standing and motioning after a beat for Eve to bring it. She crossed the threshold with quick steps, handed it to him, nodded her head, and retreated from the room. Bond sat, running his thumb around the edges of the wax that sealed the envelope. He winced slightly as he slid his finger under the seal, releasing its grip. Blue tinted paper nestled inside and he pulled it loose after a try, tossing the envelope onto the desk. The material was weighty cardstock and Bond’s mind immediately jumped to the Adairs. He flipped the card to reveal the scrawl on the back, announcing his invitation to a party. 

Apparently, Bond was invited to Q’s 21st birthday celebration. 

Bond smiled at the mention of Q’s name, not checking himself for a reason. He placed the card gently by his typewriter and stared out of the window at the early afternoon of July 8th. The party was said to be on the 20th of this very month— only twelve days away!

Bond thought of the boy across the lake that he had seen only a few short weeks ago, how that figure had become more than just a stranger across the lake with no name or face attached. 

The door creaked on its hinges— Bond turned to see Eve. “I’m sorry to intrude so often, sir. But you’ve a visitor.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Adair,” Eve supplied. After a moment, “The youngest— Q.”

“Thank you, Eve, I’ll be down immediately.”

Eve nodded and did not wait for Bond to reach the door before hurrying off down the hall. They both took the stairs at the same instance, uneven footsteps pattering down the carpeted steps. Eve led Bond to the first drawing room. Bond burst in, brushing past Eve and collecting himself, shocking himself a little by his haste. 

“Q,” Bond began evenly. “Are you all right?”

Q looked up from where he was sitting, though he kept his face slightly downcast. “Yes, quite.”

“I thought you left earlier, after breakfast?” Bond questioned, coming closer and watching Q shift away. 

Though they were exchanging words the world had frozen. The curtains no longer swayed in the wind; a cloud seemed to have covered the sun; the light dimmed. Bond was on his toes— he was inching forward.

“I did.”

“Why did you come back?’

“Just fancied another visit.” Q said, his mannerisms betraying him as his head bobbed up, revealing bruising on his left cheek— the one he had been hiding. 

“Good God, Q! Who did that?” Bond asked, outraged, and rushed to Q’s side. He gently reached for Q’s jaw, turning his face and angling it towards the natural light from the window.

Bond lost his thoughts before they could form in a sudden wave of shock. His mouth moved but he could not speak and he did not know whether it was from anger or sadness or a wish for vengeance.

Bond brushed his thumb lightly over the bruise, expecting a wince but receiving Q’s gaze instead. Bond did not look away as he asked Eve to fetch the first aid kit. She did not fuss over not being his maid, merely went in silence.

Bond’s palm stroked Q’s cheek— he did not draw it back. Instead he settled it once more on Q’s cheek, rubbing circles with motions that could only be described as tender. 

“Who?”

Q dropped his head, looking away. 

“Why do you look so ashamed?”

Eve returned, kit in hand. She set it down gently beside Bond on the floor and took a step back. Bond turned to look at Eve; her face was strained. 

“Something the matter, Eve?” Bond asked, perhaps with too much steel in his voice. 

She looked as if Bond’s inquiry had answered a question, “No. I’ll be sowing in the other room if you need me.”

“You many go then,” Bond ordered and murmured a ‘thank you’ almost as an afterthought. 

She turned and left, the click of her heels the only signal of her retreat. Bond dropped his hand from its rest against Q’s face and busied himself preparing the disinfectant. Bond had been too focused on the fact Q was hurt earlier to look too closely at the type of wound. The skin had split and the blood had dribbled out and dried, leaving a red sort of tear down Q’s pale skin. 

Bond took a wad of cotton, pouring alcohol on it and holding it up, looking to Q for approval. He nodded and Bond shuffled closer on his knees, positioning himself between Q’s legs to get the best angle. He stared up at the planes of Q’s face, slowly raising the cotton to his cheek. He winced and Bond found his hand reassuringly pressed against Q’s knee. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Q said, his voice unaffected by the sting. “About Diane and about what you said about her.”

“What’s your conclusion?” Bond inquired, digging around in the kit for a band-aid. 

“First, what did you do? To make her leave?”

Bond’s grip tightened around the small bandage, “I didn’t do anything. She’s the one who left.”

Q patted Bond’s hand where it still rested on his leg. Bond removed it. “There’s always blame on both sides, James. Not an equal amount, mind you. But it’s blame even still.”

Bond softened at the familiar way Q spoke. “You talk like you’re older. It’s unsettling.”

Q shrugged. “So what was it?”

Bond unwrapped the band-aid, using the time to think of a proper answer. “The last few months— the last six months— were…lacking.”

“Lacking in what?” Q asked as Bond pressed the band-aid on his cheek.

“I feel like I’m talking to a psychiatrist!” Bond cried, exasperated.

“I’m not your therapist, I’m your—” He said passionately but broke off, fearful of overstepping. “Lacking in what?” he repeated. 

“I’ll cut you a deal,” Bond offered.

“I’m listening.”

“Tell me what happened to your cheek and I’ll tell you why Diane and I separated. Deal?”

“Deal,” Q said, taking a breath. “It was my father— he did it after I told him I wanted to be a poet.”

“Has he hit you before, Q?” Bond asked icily. 

“No, but he’s been on the verge of doing it for months now.”

“Q,” Bond cried softly. The name was heavy with all the things Bond could not do to help, could not do to comfort.

“Lacking in what?”

Bond clearly wanted to drop the subject but Q’s eyes warned against it. “The bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” Q asked, clearly surprised. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Bond said, raising his defenses.

“You do,” Q urged. 

“I don’t,” Bond argued, the walls rising higher. 

“You don’t like that you know, but you do.” After a moment, “Do you want another type of company?”

“How do you mean?” Bond asked with a growing sense of unease.

Q pulled at his trousers with nervous fingers. “Male company?”

“Pardon?”

“I said,” Q mustered his courage. “Male company?”

“Two men? Together? That’s— it’s illegal!” Bond spluttered, attempting— for his own sake— to disguise how easily the idea had nested itself in his mind. 

“Is it?” The way Q insinuated his meaning with the lean of his shoulders made Bond nervous.

“Of course.” Bond answered firmly, with a face as stoic as he could manage. Q let his answer hang in the air between them. He leaned back with defeated eyes.

“I think I should go,” Q whispered. Bond stood and walked to the opposite end of the room. Q rose and began to walk out. “Thank you for the bandage.”

Bond said nothing and did not stop Q as he left the room, steps echoing down empty corridors. 

Q— a friend? No. Something about that didn’t fit. 

Q— an acquaintance? No. There was an intimacy they shared.

Less than friends but more than just acquaintances, then?

No.

More than—? Yes. Bond mulled over the instantaneous ‘yes’ in his mind.

More than friends and less than lovers?

Bond heard the back door shut, and the loud bang was almost like a physical blow. He traversed the halls, back to the stairs and up to his room. He stared at the invitation, sitting where he had put it, the invitation itself unaware of the complications and mixed feelings it represented. 

Bond picked it up and ran his thumb over Q’s delicately scrawled name. If only Q was as simple as the letter on the page. If only the world were black and white.

He sat down at his typewriter, fingers poised at the ready. He sat there for seconds until they faded into minutes, and one minute into two, and five, and seven. Bond took his hands away and placed them in his lap, eyebrows drawn and looking out the window, thinking of Q that first day on the opposite shore.

More than friends, less than lovers. 

Bond played with the corner of the invitation. Whatever that meant, he thought, I have less than two weeks to figure it out. 

A knock at the door, “Come in.”

The click of Eve’s heels announced her arrival. They stopped and Bond had the sense she was trying to phrase something in her mind. 

“Out with it,” Bond said, turning in his chair. “Whatever it is, out with it.”

“I have noticed,” she began. “That you and Mr. Adair— Q— have grown quite close.”

“Choose your words carefully, Eve.”

She pursed her lips and continued, “Now I know as a black woman—”

Bond closed his eyes with a growing irritation and anger, “Eve, I’m going to stop you right there.”

“Sir?”

“I was never much for racism— it’s one of the trends I didn’t feel the urge to jump on board with. So if you’ve an opinion about the nature of the relationship between Q and I,” Bond paused to take a breath, he spit the last part with venom. “I can assure you, there is none.”

“I’m concerned for your reputation, sir.”

“I don’t give a damn about reputation! Bugger respectability and credibility. People talk as people do, I can’t very well stop them. And my wife left me for God’s sake, Eve. And I’m a bloody writer. Tell me, what reputation do I maintain now that is worth my effort to sustain? Please, enlighten me!”

There was a lengthy pause.

“I cannot rightly tell a gentleman what he can and cannot do. But if you are asking my advice, truly, and not out of spite, then I would tell you to— well, I would give you advice. What people say about you is all their friends and family and brothers-in-law care about. But those who gossip don’t wait for their chatter to be true. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Yes, I understand what people think of me. I was surprised beyond belief when Brian agreed to drive me up here. I realized soon that my family and friends’ erratic visits were not to check up on me so much as to try and catch me in the act.”

“You have been a kind man to me and I wish you the best. So, I’m telling you that no matter what you do, people will talk truth and lies and that they don’t care which one they’re passin’ on.”

“Do you care, Eve? Which one you pass on?”

“I don’t make it a habit to gossip about a gentleman’s private business. But hypothetically, yes, I would care. And I know you care about him.”

Bond looked quickly, his temper flaring in a sudden flash, from his messy desk to Eve as she turned to exit the room. 

“Eve,” Bond stopped her. She turned. “Sir?”

“You haven’t told me what to do.”

She gave a small, side smile. It almost reminded Bond of the smiles of condolence from London.

“That’s not my decision to make, sir.”

She left, leaving Bond alone with his thoughts.


End file.
